


Bandage

by moonriverdrifter



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:44:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonriverdrifter/pseuds/moonriverdrifter
Summary: Zelda gives up baby Leticia. Hilda comforts her. Angst, angst, angst. One-shot.





	Bandage

**Author's Note:**

> This has not been betaed at all and barely edited. I literally just typed it up on my phone cuz I'm traveling but I watched the Christmas (sorry, Solstice) special and I was inspired and I couldn't not write this. Sorry if it's shit.

"Do you want me to go with you, Zelds?"

"Don't be daft, Hilda." Zelda picks up the bassinet, rolls her eyes. "You well know I can find my way around Moon Valley alone."

That is not at all what Hilda meant, but she let's the matter rest. Zelda is far too close to the knife block, and today is not the day to push her luck.

When Zelda is on the threshold between the kitchen and the foyer, Hilda calls out: "I'll have lunch ready when you get back." She's making beef stew, Mother's recipe, Grandmama's before her. It's homey, familiar, and one among the hundreds of small, unobtrusive ways Hilda has learned to comfort a sister who makes love punishingly difficult.

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"Promise me that you will take good care of her." It's a pathetic thing to say, and the waver in Zelda's voice is pathetic, but it's out of her mouth before she can stopper herself.

Desmelda, at least, seems to understand. Her smile is beneficent, and she holds the babe closely, securely.

"Of course I will, child." It goes without saying, really, but Zelda still needs to hear it.

Something crumbles in her as she exits the aged witch's home, closes the door on the last bit of her life that still held meaning. It's the same bit of her that has already died one hundred mundane deaths. Each time Sabrina leaves for the Academy, every time Ambrose announces that the High Priest has loosened his magical chains, even if it's just by the smallest fraction. It's the part of her that gasps and bleeds when Hilda walks out the door in her ludicrous costume, every dinner Zelda has to sit through while Hilda's in the mood to poeticize the brilliance of _Dr. Cee_. She isn't even subtle about it anymore, and now Zelda's only distraction is gone.

Zelda begins the painful trek home. She is proud of herself when she makes it past sight of Desmelda's door before she falls against a tree trunk, head in hands, even prouder when she does not cry. She simply indulges in a single, agonized sob before picking herself back up, smoothing her hair and dress, continuing on down her lonely road with her head high, as she has always done.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hilda hesitates outside her sister's door. This is probably foolish, will likely earn her a Cain pit nap. But the last time she left Zelda alone after an emotional crisis, she was up all night bandaging wounds and concocting a healing salve. Hilda tells herself she doesn't want that inconvenience again, that it's just a matter of practicality. It doesn't stop her shuddering as the image of Zelda's raw, weeping back crashes over her, the way it does any time she senses even the smallest downturn in the other woman's mood.

She knocks once, gets no answer, turns the doorknob and is relieved when she isn't immediately hexed. Zelda is already in bed, even though it's early. She's chosen one of her more risque gowns tonight, and her hair falls luminous around her shoulders, and it hits Hilda low down in her stomach, makes her squirm with all manner of Things she should not feel.

"What are you doing, Hilda?"

"I thought I might sleep here tonight." Apparently her cheerfulness does, in fact, have its bounds, because it's deserted her now. She sounds as worried as she is.

Zelda scoffs, the way that she's so practiced at. That does Things to Hilda, too, much as she wishes it wouldn't. She's long since resigned herself to not understanding how it's possible to resent someone so much while also wanting nothing more than to twine your own body and soul around theirs and rest that way forever.

"What for?" Zelda asks. Hilda can't think of anything to say, so she's silent as she shrugs off her robe, drapes it over a chair back. She does not ask before crossing the room and drawing back the edge of the covers. Zelda moves over, and Hilda can still feel her warmth when she lies down.

Before Zelda can fire any barbs at her sister, Hilda's arms are circling her waist, and Zelda's hands move to cover hers automatically. Then Zelda's shaking beneath the covers, sobbing in earnest; it's all spilling out and she can't stop it, no matter how she hates herself for losing control. 

"It's all right, love."

Zelda turns so they are face-to-face, and Hilda's hands are in her hair, lips dusting her forehead, her cheeks and nose. She hesitates at Zelda's mouth, but the older witch is pressing closer, seems like she's trying to burrow into her sister, and Hilda can feel her breath, stronger, hotter. Desperate for sensation, to feel anything at all than what she is really feeling. And Hilda has never been able to deny her.

This is not like kissing Cee; certainly it bears no resemblance to the experimental pecks, quivering inexperienced lips, the clumsy tongue brushing that even Hilda played with at school. This is not a kiss at all; it's a bloody epiphany.

She's never understood her sister's faith, how Zelda can believe in the Dark Lord so wholly, so unproblematically and all-consumingly. Hilda did not think herself capable of believing in _anything_ that way, never thought herself capable of devotion. But Zelda's tongue in her mouth feels holy, and she can think of about a thousand ways she could worship her sister.

Zelda, as per usual, does not give her the chance. Her body is hellfire as she rolls Hilda to her back, settles her weight atop the smaller woman. One of her thighs slides between both of Hilda's, and it's good, oh, Satan, _so_ good, and Hilda wants nothing but to mash herself against that thigh. But her lips skim Zelda's cheek, and Zelda tastes saline and sad, and this is not right.

She extracts herself from Zelda's hold, bolts out of bed, expects anger, shouts, possibly a lamp broken over her head. But Zelda only stares in mournful disbelief, lets another tear slip from her left eye, where her sister's mouth brushed just moments before.

"Why..." Her voice wavers. "Why did you stop?"

"Because," Hilda replies, "It's not right. Not now. I'm...I'm not a plaster for your emotional wounds, Zelda."

The older witch, for possibly the first time in her two centuries of life, is lost. She bites into her lower lip, contemplates her sister and how much she wants Hilda inside and all over her. How she simply _wants_ Hilda, has never wanted anything else.

"No," she agrees, "No, you aren't."

She beckons Hilda forward, and the younger witch does not budge. She's doing her own mental contortions, her own overthinking.

"Please don't make me sleep alone," Zelda whispers. Not tonight. After tonight, Hilda can run right back to her mortal paramour, can leave Zelda forever. But tonight she is raw and needy, and not just for a bandage or a fuck or a warm body next to hers. She needs _Hilda_.

Zelda sighs her relief when the universe finally decides that, just this once, she can have what she needs. Hilda comes back to bed. She pulls Zelda close, cradles her, lets her nuzzle into her neck. She drifts off as Hilda strokes her hair, whispers soothing nonsense, falls asleep cocooned in Hilda's warmth, her magic, the sound of her heartbeat, the only safe and sure things Zelda has.


End file.
